


Rediscovering

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [140]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgardian Loki (Marvel), Asgardian Reader (Marvel), Childhood Friends, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Napping, POV Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When Loki discovers a childhood friend napping in the sunlight in his mother’s garden, it shifts the way he thinks about certain things.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [140]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 9
Kudos: 172





	Rediscovering

He stumbled upon you entirely by accident. Even he had to admit that it was a beautiful day in Asgard, and something about the golden sunlight and the azure skies called to him. So he set out to wander the grounds. Normally, he wasn’t much for cavorting in the sunlight and making a big deal out of something as simple as the weather, but today there was just something in him that bristled at the idea of staying holed up in the library. 

He strolled aimlessly across the grounds. He didn’t much care for the way the servants and caretakers stared at him with wide eyes and then did their best to flee from him. At the same time, though, was this not what he’d spent so much of his life trying to cultivate? He aimed to be unapproachable, to be disliked not for who he was but for his reputation. For what people thought of him. It was foolish to be so bothered by that now, when it meant he’d accomplished his goals.

He walked. It had been a long time since he’d last truly taken in the splendor of the palace grounds. Birds called to each other in the trees overhead. Sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell in dappled patterns on the brilliant grass underfoot. Insects buzzed through the blooming flowers, fat and bumbling and lazy in the warmth of the spring. Perhaps he was beginning to understand why his mother was so obsessed with caring for these grounds. 

Things only grew lovelier and more idyllic as he approached the garden proper. The sweet perfume of flowers filled the air, tickled his nose. He recognized some of the flowers, though he found that he could not quite put a name to any of them. But this one smelled like his mother’s perfume. That one smelled like the tiny pouches she used to put under his pillow to ward off nightmares when he was tiny. He paused for a moment to bend over a patch of particularly-vivid colors, and that’s when you caught his eye.

You were stretched out on your back, your silken gown shimmering against the grass much like the flowers that surrounded you. The sunlight caressed your skin and made it glow with a burnished, coppery warmth. A gentle breeze ruffled your skirts, played with your hair. As he crept closer, he took in more and more of you. Your eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. Your lips, parted ever-so-slightly as you drew quiet breath. He could not shake the feeling of being caught up in one of the tales his mother used to tell him—stumbling across a fair maiden sleeping in the sunlight. 

But he knew that you were not under a spell. You were no hidden princess, and you certainly had not been cursed by a foul witch to sleep for a thousand years. He recognized you. Your father was a nobleman, and you often visited the palace on business matters. He’d resented you a bit as a child, and would often spend days coming up with new ways to try to torment you. But you weren’t frightened of small creatures, squirmy things or things with too many legs. You never screamed or swooned when he jumped out at you from darkened corners, and, at least until it was no longer proper, he had often tussled with you no matter how many times you bested him. 

It had been a long time since he’d seen you last. Standing here in the garden, he allowed himself to take in the sight of you. The years had been kind. Even he had to admit that. Your face was soft, your lips plump and seemingly curled into a smile even in your sleep. One hand rested on your belly, the fingers curling limply against your dress, and if he allowed himself to get lost for a moment in watching the way your chest rose and fell with each gentle breath, well, who was to know? 

Perhaps some small part of him chafed a bit at the liberties he was taking. He hadn’t seen you in a long, long time. If you were awake, certainly you would not be comfortable knowing that he stood here staring at you. But looking at you allowed him to remember things long past. Simpler times. Innocence. Memories washed over him. As much as he tormented you, you always seemed to favor him over his brother. Perhaps he owed you thanks for that.

Questions circled in his mind. Why were you here? Where was your father? What were you doing asleep in the garden? They were almost pressing enough to make him want to wake you, but he couldn’t find it in him just yet. Instead, he continued to watch you sleep. It seemed remarkable, how deeply you slept. It was hard for him to imagine ever letting his guard down so completely. The child in him, the nasty little thing with the sneer and the desperate desire to be seen, wanted to frighten you awake. Drop a toad on your belly, track down a spider. But he was older now, and so much more mature. He let the urges pass. 

You shifted a bit, bringing your hand up to bat something away from your face and then allowing it to fall into the grass beside your head. He was struck, suddenly and overwhelmingly, by the desire to trail his hands along your sides. To take in the feeling of your skin beneath your dress. It made him feel uncharacteristically guilty, and, as penance, he tore his eyes away from you to take in the rest of the garden. He barely knew you anymore, and you certainly did not know him. This was too predatory, even for him. If he was truly decent, he’d walk away and leave you in peace. 

But Loki had never been all that decent.

He approached you carefully, quietly, and then stretched out on his back beside you. He folded his arms behind his head and watched the branches swaying in the skies above. He was beginning to see, now, how you’d managed to fall asleep. A bird flew past and settled itself onto a branch that seemed too thin to support it, and then set about preening as though it was not at all bothered by the precariousness of its perch. He had to smile. 

He didn’t hear you awaken. You gave no sign of coming back into your own body—no great and luxurious stretch, no sweet yawn, nothing. But when the bird took off again and flew off to who knows where, he looked over and saw that you were already looking at him. He just barely kept himself from flinching, but his eyes must have gone wide, because he saw the way you smiled. Even self-satisfied like that, you were beautiful.

He cleared his throat in hopes of covering the last vestiges of his shock and returned his gaze to the sky. “Are times truly so tough that the nobility has nowhere else to sleep but in the royal gardens?”

“Perhaps if the Lord Prince lowered himself to step outside his own quarters once in a while, he would know more about the world around him.” Sleep had roughened your voice, a bit, but he could not deny the music that flowed through your words. 

“How dare you speak to royalty like that,” he said, though without a single trace of venom. In truth, it was refreshing. It reminded him of all the time that you’d once spent together, lost in conversation. “I should have you imprisoned for your impertinence.”

You laughed, and the sound warmed his insides the way the sunlight warmed his skin. “Pray, my lord, have mercy on me. Truly, I meant no harm.”

“I’ll spare you. For now,” he said, playing along. He wanted to turn his head to look at you again, but...didn’t. He was so close. You were so close. “But what are you doing here?”

“My father had a Council meeting. I tagged along. I wanted to look in on your mother’s gardens.” He could sense a heaviness in your words, but wasn’t sure if it was his place to press you on it. It had been a long time since the two of you had spoken like this. Probably it was none of his business.

He hummed an agreement and let his eyes slip closed. “We had the same idea. I’m glad we did.”

“Me too.” The wistfuless in your voice ate at him, but he merely bit the inside of his cheek. If there was something you wanted him to know, you’d tell him. It wouldn’t do any good to ask you about it, or to press you on it. A shift in the breeze carried the slightest trace of your perfume to him, and he breathed it in greedily. There was so much that he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get a handle on it. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know if you’d even care to hear it. 

After some time, he finally found the words. “Are you… Do you tag along often? I haven’t seen you in some time.” He hated how eager he sounded, but, if he knew you as well as he once had, he knew you wouldn’t say a word about it. 

“No, not terribly often. I have to look after the grounds in his absence. At least until he foists me off on some other man with some other grounds.” That had plagued you even when you were children—the idea that, someday, you’d wind up in a marriage of convenience, of forging alliances. Perhaps that had been part of the reason he’d so carefully cultivated his reputation as a monster: so that his parents could not successfully find him a similar arrangement. Thor looked forward to it. He couldn’t take the throne until he was married, after all, and as a man in line for the throne, he was all but guaranteed a beautiful wife, or at least one with riches and power.

It was strange, that surge of excitement in his chest when he realized that no one had claimed you yet. You deserved someone who appreciated you, someone who could follow after you and enjoy the world at your side. For the first time in his life, he found himself contemplating the idea of marriage. He could be someone like that, perhaps, if you were at all amenable.

A man some distance away called your name, and you sat up so you could turn and look. “It’s my father,” you said, rather pointlessly, and rose to your feet. You dusted off your gown and met his eyes, then reached out a hand to help him up, if he wanted. He took your hand without thinking about it, and the feeling of your warm, smooth skin against his own imprinted itself on his memory. “I’ll take my leave, Your Highness. I hope you take the time to enjoy the rest of your day.” You dipped into a curtsy, but then looked up at him with a wry grin. 

He watched you go, his mind racing, and lifted one hand to wave a quick greeting at your father. When the two of you had disappeared, he headed back towards the palace. 

He needed to talk to his mother about the politics of marriage.


End file.
